The Vanishing Act
by ChellChellSEA
Summary: Draco Malfoy, perplexed, disgusted, and still a pompous bastard refuses to let them fade in peace without first facing their fears. "Get over it, Granger. Life goes on. It always has and always will." HGDM
1. Introduction: Time Never Forgets

**A/N: Ignores most of DH and all of Epilogue. Touch and go. Subject to revisions at any time because of complications. This story is meant to be a romantic tragedy, I don't want to spoil the ending, but you won't be disappointed. This is an alternative version of various details of the war and the lives of our favorite characters after. Despite some in-depth attention to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, this is a Granger/Malfoy romance. **

**Summary: They had triumphed. They were now free to live their lives. But all they wanted in the wake of new beginnings was to disappear. But Draco Malfoy, perplexed, disgusted, and still a pompous bastard refuses to let them fade in peace without first facing their fears. "Get over it, Granger. Life goes on. It always has and always will." HGDM**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot bunnies only; everything else is Rowling's.**

Introduction: Time Never Forgets

Before the world had always been spinning, spinning, spinning, and exploding. Bright like fireworks and deadly spells. Greens and reds and whites and blues. They were pumping through their veins, spreading from their blood stream and into muscles and bones. Into their souls. From here to there, always here, always there. Never standing still. Forever moving. Forever searching. Forever fighting. Forever doing. _Until the end, Harry. Until the end._ They told him. _Until the end._ He confirmed. Until they _weren't_ forever anymore. Until forever became yesterday and today became something new. Something that stuck their feet to the ground and put them on the spot, frightened and confused. Something that released all the fireworks from their blood. Something that drained them.

The day Harry Potter cast the spell that finished Voldemort forever ended. It was monumental. It was the long-awaited end of the story. They had succeeded. They had triumphed. They were the heroes. Everyone applauded, tears of happiness and relief mingled with grief streaming, pouring down heavy. Claps on the back and fierce hugs, kisses on the cheeks, on the mouth, gripping handshakes.

But when Harry lowered his wand, he felt it leave him. And when his hand returned to his side and his eyes found theirs, they felt it leave them too. But they didn't know what it was or what it meant; they weren't ready for it to end. They tried to leap into action again. Recovering bodies and putting names with faces. Making a list, stopping a few times to breathe and choke back sobs. Forgetting to breathe again when they were hit with the knowledge that victory doesn't always guarantee a happy ending. Whatever it was that kept them together, whatever it was that kept them going, whatever it was that made them heroes, it had gone with the end and left them cold and dry. It was sucked painfully out of their souls, out of their bones and muscles, out of their bloodstreams, and away.

The enemy was gone and he took with it their rage-induced adrenaline. But didn't it know they needed it? They had become addicted, they didn't know how to live any other way.

Because After… the world stopped spinning, bright lights stopped exploding, and everything became grey. Because they weren't really heroes and didn't really want to be heroes in the first place and sometimes, only sometimes they wished the war hadn't ended because at least then they would have something to do. They would know _why _to do. And, more importantly, they would still have forever with no time to lose. Now they just had today, endlessly stretching out before them, not knowing what to do with it or why to do anything at all.

And when the mess was gone, the cameras flashed with blinding lights and ignored reporters, feeling scorned, such as Rita Skeeter, wrote lengthy articles on the Trio's sudden superiority complex, to which new Minister of Magic, Shackelbolt Kingsley, promptly responded by ordering _The Daily Prophet_ recall all copies, issue a statement of apology, and refuse all future articles from the nasty witch indefinitely. But they didn't.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron made one public appearance when they each took the stand for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, ensuring Narcissa a full-pardon and Draco a partial pardon. He was sentenced to house-arrest for 6 months and probation for two years without the use of magic. Lucius Malfoy was declared guilty and sentenced to five years in Azkaban. Neville Longbottom was declared a hero but he humbly refused this praise and took a job as the Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Luna Lovegood's father retired and she became the new editor of _The Quibbler_. Fred and George Weasley closed down their shop for a year in order to grieve over their losses, while Fleur and Bill took up temporary lodging at the Burrow to stay close to Mrs. Weasley. Charlie, Percy, Mr. Weasley and Ginny were buried in the same plot. Their faces on the clock faded. Mrs. Weasley wept every morning and every evening, but busied herself with cooking and cleaning during the day.

Harry Potter wept bitterly at the grave of Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley drank himself blind on the day set for his father's funeral, and Hermione Granger still had not visited the grave of her parents and was afraid to go back to their empty home.

The fight that had thrived within them had been replaced with a deep and painful ache. An ache no dreamless sleep drought could hide, an ache no amount of firewhiskey could dull, an ache no pensieve could make you forget, an ache no one could ever fill. It throbbed day and night, it pounded constantly. Ron had to remind himself to eat, but even then most times he didn't. Harry had to force himself out of bed, but he never got up before two in the afternoon. Hermione had to remember how to breathe but sometimes she forgot she was even supposed to.

Time wouldn't let them forget the war. Time wouldn't let them forget what happened, what they had done and what it had done to them.

But time, that threatened to get the better of them, that mocked them by looming so far out in front, scared them into action. Ron signed on with the Chudley Cannons. Hermione took a job at Flourish & Blotts but turned down an offer to write the newest version of _A History of Magic_. Harry bought a flat in muggle London and secured a job in a small coffee shop in order to avoid spending days alone.

The three met twice every month. One visit in Harry's coffee shop, the Corner Espresso, and the other at a quaint little shop in Wizarding London-The Cauldron. They made small talk for the first fifteen minutes and spent the next fifteen in silence, uncomfortably aware of each other's pain but unwilling to talk about it.

But slowly as they used time up, they each began to practice vanishing. Because to disappear… would be like not really existing at all. And the ache that made it so hard to keep going might be easier to bear if no one else could see it.

000

**A/N: I chose to begin with this introduction to set the story up. The following chapters will not follow in this specific narrative style. **

**Enjoy. :)**

**Chelsea**


	2. Chapter One: I Believe in Symmetry

**A/N: Title for this chapter is owed to Bright Eyes and their song **_**I Believe in Symmetry**_**. Most chapter titles will be inspired by this band. **

000

Chapter Two: I Believe in Symmetry

The days were all the same. When she opened her window to let the owl fly in with her morning paper, the breeze moved through her hair and the sunlight glared, sharp into her eyes. And the next morning when she opened her window to get the paper, the breeze moved through her hair and the sunlight glared into her eyes. And the morning after that the breeze moved through her hair and the sunlight glared into her eyes.

It made her wonder if they had always been the same before… if everything would always be the same. And she didn't really want to read through the paper each day but it was a part of the routine and the routine must be strictly followed. She read it thoroughly and upon finishing, folded it up neatly and placed it on the bottom shelf of her living room bookcase with the rest.

It made her smile wryly to think about how complicated she thought life used to be before. Before it was all so simple, the routine was easy to follow because you didn't really know it was a routine and you believed you were living. When S.P.E.W. was a noble and unpopular cause, when OWL exams would determine the future, when boys hurting your feelings were worth crying about, when destroying horcruxes would save the world, and killing Voldemort would make everything better. It had all been so simple. And the routine was what Hermione Granger knew how to abide by best.

So she created a new one. Get up, use the loo, eat breakfast, read the paper, put up the paper, brush teeth, dress in clean robes, clean up, make coffee, floo to work, change close sign to open, update book order form, re-shelve, help customers, avoid discussing Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, smile politely, check out customers, re-shelve, eat lunch, use the loo, help customers, avoid discussing Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, smile politely, check out customers, change open sign to close, re-shelve, lock-up, floo home, shower, change clothes, make dinner, read a novel, clean up, use the loo, brush teeth, slide in bed, stare at ceiling, avoid thinking about the war, avoid thinking about her parents, avoid thinking about before, stare at the ceiling, drift off to sleep. Repeat.

She used to think the routine would make everything better, but know she knew that at the very least it would help her _pretend_ everything was better.

Sometimes she cheated. Sometimes when it hurt so bad she forgot how to breathe again, she would sit in her favorite armchair in the living room with the lights off. She would not move to eat and she would not floo to work. She would sit and stare into the darkness in front of her and embrace the deep ache that pumped wildly in her heart, through her blood, in her bones. She would think _this is what it is to live. This pain is what life is. _

She remembers herself as foolish and naïve. The shadows in the room begin to stretch towards her and she shrinks back into the chair. They call out to her, blaming her, and _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. _Please_ she asks and they turn from her, the robed and the un-robed figures, their backs to her, shunning.

She hangs her head, ashamed and overwhelmed. This is what it is to live.

III

Draco Malfoy scowled as he checked his watch for the third time. Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes.

"Bloody sign says nine o' clock. It's eleven thirty for Great Merlin's sake! Where the blasted is that ruddy witch? I don't have all day, you know."

"Bitching and moaning like always, Draco. Nice to see some things never change." Pansy said and took a drag from her cigarette.

Draco glared at her. "Oh, fuck off. Some things shouldn't change. Like keeping to a set schedule. Since when has Granger ever been late for anything anyway?" He drummed his fingers against the table he and Pansy shared in the small café across from Flourish & Blotts and stared fixedly out the window waiting for any sign of life to appear in the dark little bookstore.

"You see the Prophet yesterday?" Pansy asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. "New story is Granger's turned into a little minx and strips at the nightclub downtown."

Draco said nothing. It didn't faze him. Reporters for _The Daily Prophet_ had been out for revenge ever since Granger told them all to go screw themselves. Last week Potter had developed a secret romance with a Horn-tailed dragon and Weasley was gay. Not that he'd doubt that last claim. There had always been something a little off about the Weasel.

"Of course, it's all bollocks. Little Miss Priss would never sink so low. Still, Blaise ran down there last night to check it out. Said there was nothing but some dolled up brunette with the biggest knockers he'd ever seen. Now THAT would've been my first clue. Granger always had the smallest tits at Hogwarts."

"Ugh, can you please refrain from talking about Granger's tits. It's highly disturbing." Draco broke in with a noise of disgust.

"Gods, let's just call it a day. She's not gonna show. We'll just come again tomorrow."

"No, damn it. We need Granger to sign this fucking paper. We need her for this job. Ah! There she is."

Pansy looked over her shoulder and sure enough, the lights in the little shop were on and the sign now read 'Open.'

"Let's go." Draco threw some change on the table and stood and made to walk out of the café.

"Are you sure she'll agree to this?"

Draco scoffed.

"Of course she will. It's Granger."

"Just don't act like a stupid prat, Draco. I'm sure she still has a vehement hatred for your ferret ass. It's best to play nice."

"You bitch. Don't ever call me that again. I'll throttle you."

000

_The golden rays baked her skin as she ran with her arms out at her sides, down one side of the beach and back to the other._

"_Daddy, look! I'm flying!" and she zoomed past him, kicking up sand as she went. _

_She could feel the grains between her toes when she stopped and turned to the ocean. The cool water lapped at her feet, swimming around her ankles and then retreating. And then back hesitantly to taste her again. She'd never seen something so big and so blue and so beautiful. She wondered idly if it would swallow her whole if she dared move an inch closer. _

"_Hermione?" She heard her mother call. But her voice was distant. The sky grew dark and she jumped, looking up at the crash of thunder. When she forced her eyes back down, fear crept into her heart. A great dark wave was rising up, pushing closer to the shore. She turned to run back but stopped, glancing around in a blind panic. They were gone. They were gone! Thousands of people filled the beach and they were all screaming and running, stumbling into her and bowling her over. Frantically she stood and began to desperately search for her parents as the shadow of the wave encompassed her. A terrifying realization stilled her feet. _

_She couldn't remember their faces. _

Hermione opened the first box with a flick of her wand and scanned the form she held in her hand for the book on top.

She'd overslept. This happened from time to time. The dreams. She'd recently run out of her supply of Dreamless Sleep Drought and hadn't the time to pick any more up. Her hands shook as she pulled a few more texts out of the box and spelled them to their spots on the shelves.

Hermione vaguely registered the tinkering of the bell as the door opened and closed. How could she have been so careless? She couldn't afford to let them haunt her in her sleep. While she was awake was bad enough. It would ruin everything. Her routine would collapse. She could not let it collapse. She needed it.

"Granger." Her head snapped up and her dark eyes met with a vibrant blue. For confirmation she took in his brilliant blond head. She tightened her lips in an attempt to pull a polite smile but failed and settled for a bland stare.

"Malfoy." Her eyes drifted over to witch at his side. Short black hair like she remembered.

"Pansy." She gave a curt nod in return.

Swallowing thickly, she scanned her brain for the necessary course of action. She couldn't handle them being here for very long. They looked just like did from Before but slightly older.

Malfoy stood looking regal in a dark grey suit, tall and broad-shouldered, his trademark hair trimmed neatly and swept carefully to the side. Parkinson stood only a few inches shorter, her pitch black hair drastically short in a pixie cut, and her dark red lips pursed. Hermione could make out the stale odor of smoke swirl around them.

"Can I be of any help to you?" Hermione questioned in the polite, inquiring tone she usually used with customers.

Draco Malfoy quirked an eyebrow. Interesting.

"It's noon, Granger. Take your lunch break. I'd like to discuss some business and you've kept me waiting long enough."

Hermione Granger scowled. A sudden appearance from Pansy, she could handle. But Draco Malfoy was simply out of the question. There was no way in hell she'd alter her routine for that spineless bastard.

Nevertheless, a good ten-minute argument later, a grim Hermione found herself with a cup of tea in her hands, staring dully across a table at Malfoy and Parkinson. She blamed it on her lack of regular contact with people. Her brain was too rusty to put up a proper defense.

Damn him.

000


End file.
